Anne Barbour by A Rakes Reform Page B

upward. “He is somewhat, er, dictatorial, but you must realize, that like most men—particularly men in his position—he has been used to being obeyed without question for nearly all his life.”
    “Well,” muttered Chloe, “he’d best get used to being disobeyed, because I have no intention—
    “I applaud your spirit, my dear,” interposed Hester gently, “but it is never wise to mount an insurrection from a position of weakness. Do you remember what we discussed on the occasion of our first meeting at my home?”
    Chloe stared at her blankly.
    “I think we agreed at that time that your best plan of attack at the moment was to show your guardian that you are quite grown up and capable of making your own decisions about your future.”
    Chloe’s gaze fell to the handkerchief, now twisted in a damp knot. “Y-yes, I remember.” She lifted her eyes. “I—I suppose you think that running away—again—was not a very good way of demonstrating my—my maturity.”
    “It does not matter what I think. It is your view of your actions that is important. And, of course, that of Lord Bythorne. Try, if you can, Chloe, to put yourself in your guardian’s place.” She lifted her hand as a protest formed visibly on Chloe’s soft pink lips. “No, I have found this to be very useful in my own skirmishes with the male animal. I think we can agree that his lordship is not a genuinely bad man.”
    “N-no, I suppose not,” admitted Chloe grudgingly.
    “Therefore his transgressions spring merely from his misguided attempts to do what he thinks is right.” Hester sighed gustily. “Such well-meaning ineptitude on the part of the male animal is the cause of many of our problems. So often what is right in their estimations is at direct odds with what is really the best for us. But I digress. Tell me, Chloe, just what do you think is best for you?”
    Again, she was rewarded by a blank stare.
    “That is, what are your goals?”
    “Oh.” Chloe fumbled with the handkerchief. “Why—I suppose—Oh, Miss—Hester—I want to be just like you!”
    Now it was Hester’s turn to gape. “I beg your pardon?” she asked vacantly.
    “Yes,” replied Chloe, this time with more assurance. “I wish to spread the spirit of feminism in writings and speeches. I think I should like very well to make speeches. I would be willing to suffer persecution for the cause, and I would never, ever let a man tell me what to do—and I would rather die than marry!” By now, Chloe had become quite flown with her own oratory and her cheeks flushed with passion. Hester placed a hand on her sleeve.
    “That is all very well, and I wish you the best, if this is truly the course of action you wish to pursue, but—”
    “If?” cried Chloe. “Why, there can be no doubt. You, and Mary Wollstonecraft before you, have pointed the way for the others of us who wish to throw off the shackles of female bondage, and I—
    “Yes,” interposed Hester gently, “but have you ever actually written anything? I mean, have you tried yet to put your thoughts on paper? It is not as easy as you might think. And as for shackles—I have never spoken against marriage. In fact, as an institution, I am highly in favor of it.”
    “You are?” Chloe’s eyes grew round.
    “Yes, for I feel that the family unit is important in a child’s development, and that unit should include both a mother and a father. I merely feel that women—and men— should be left to make their own choices in their mates. Certainly, they should listen to their parents’ wishes, for our elders speak from a wealth of experience that we would be foolish to ignore, but the decision should be left ultimately to those who will be living with one another for the rest of their lives.”
    For once Chloe was silent, merely staring doubtfully at her idol. Hester laughed.
    “Well. I have given you much to chew on. Perhaps you will wish to think over what I have said before deciding what you think is